Longreads

CHICAGO (AP) — It was February, the middle of lunch hour on a busy South Side street. The gunman approached his victim in a White Castle parking lot, shot him in the head, then fled down an…

A fish whose anatomy has barely changed in 100 million years is a local staple in the Mexican gulf coast. But the humble peje is also becoming a political flashpoint. (Nathaniel Flannery) Guadalupe…

Christine Benvenuto: 'Looking back, I can say Tom was a wonderful husband, father, friend. Or I can say Tom was a fabrication. A fake, who didn’t want to be with me, he wanted to be me.’ Photograph:…

Judi Dench. Photograph: Francois Duhamel At one point sitting opposite Dame Judi Dench over a pot of tea at a hotel in Covent Garden, I find myself asking her if she has that recurrent dream, the one…

A lot of my South Loop girlfriends are really mad at me because my beautiful Dearborn Park basement is, well…for lack of a better word…a mess. They've tried everything to help. It's my…

OKLAHOMA CITY (Reuters) - In an annex at the headquarters of Chesapeake Energy Corp, a unit informally known as AKM Operations manages a top company priority: the personal business of its namesake,…

“With writing, I don’t think it’s performing a character, really, if the character you’re performing is yourself. I don’t see that as playing a role. It’s just…

When Dennis Rodman took the stage, he was overcome by the moment. He cried his eyes out. He couldn’t speak. He gestured to his presenter and former Bulls coach, Phil Jackson, and it looked like the Worm might not say anything at all. “Hang in there Big Um!” Raglin yelled from the fifth row, and the new Hall of Famer froze. Then, Rodman rallied. He gave a speech that was everything it should have been – heartfelt, messy, profane (he called himself a couple of names, and no one in his inner circle felt compelled to offer objections), uncomfortable, silly and bleeding all over the place. He told his children he strove to be a better father and admitted to his mother, Shirley, that he needed to let go of his resentment toward her and be a better son.

In the fall of 1964, on a visit to the World’s Fair, in Queens, Lewis Altfest, a twenty-five-year-old accountant, came upon an open-air display called the Parker Pen Pavilion, where a giant computer clicked and whirred at the job of selecting foreign pen pals for curious pavilion visitors. You filled out a questionnaire, fed it into the machine, and almost instantly received a card with the name and address of a like-minded participant in some far-flung locale—your ideal match.